


Long Time Coming

by xfandomwritingsx



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, but no actual smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfandomwritingsx/pseuds/xfandomwritingsx
Summary: You and Hopper finally give into each other.
Relationships: Jim "Chief" Hopper/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Long Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hopper fic and frankly I have so many ideas for Hopper fics in my head that my full attention was not in this specific one and my mind kept wandering and jumping so, forgive me if it’s not the best. I also apologize if this is posted twice. AO3 is being a bit of a bitch on me.

It’s shortly after midnight and you’re standing at the Jim Hopper’s counter completely unable to sleep. You had come over early in the evening to cook him dinner, having always joked that he needed something that didn’t come out of a box every once in a while. El was staying the night at Max’s house and once the storm rolled in, you both decided it would be better if you just stayed the night at the cabin. That storm, however, also kept you from falling asleep on his couch. 

“Can’t sleep?” You saw his dark form out of the corner of your eye just a half second before he spoke, but you still jump, hand coming to your chest and body tightening.

“Jesus, Hop,” you breathe out, trying to make it sound like a bit of a laugh. “You scared the shit out of me.” Thunder roars outside and a flash of lightning illuminates the room for a moment.

“Sorry about that.” He’s in sweatpants and a large, pastel colored robe. You recognize it as the one you’d given him for his birthday, mostly as a joke. Something about the big, burly chief of police wearing a delicate robe made you giggle. Seeing him in it now though, you realize he can make anything look good. He has it tied at the waist but it’s still open in front, leaving most of his chest on display. You look down at the counter instead.

“I’m not the biggest fan of storms,” you admit, shifting your gaze to the curtain clad window in front of you. You can hear the wind howling behind the glass. “Bad things always seem to happen in storms.” His footsteps are heavy on the old floorboards of the cabin as he approaches you. You’re not one to show fear often. Too many people take it as a sign of weakness and it makes you feel too vulnerable. It’s different with Hopper though. He doesn’t belittle you or mock you. If anything, he makes you feel validated and safe. Sane even. After all you’ve been through, some of the things that make you jump are stupid to other people. Hopper at least relates. “Thanks again for letting me stay tonight,” you say, loosening up your shoulders and easing your grip on the counter edge. 

After last year, you and Jim have been together a lot. He started frequenting the coffee shop you worked at and the checking up on you had morphed into conversation and friendship. Light flirting made its way in shortly after. You knew the town talked; the chief spending time with a woman 15 years younger than him? You both saw the side-eyed looks you got when you strolled down the street standing a bit too close, but neither of you mind. Going through everything you had, there was a bond between you, between everyone involved, that no one else would understand. What did Nancy call it? Shared trauma?

“How’s your hip been doing?” His voice is concerned, but firm, completing ignoring your unneeded thanks. 

“Hip’s fine,” you assure him. “Scar’s a bitch though, which you would know if you ever came down to the pool with me.” You smile and give a playful, teasing tug on his robe. He chuckles and rolls his eyes. 

“Chief of police doesn’t lounge at the pool.” It’s the same line he’s given you since it was warm enough for the pool to open. At first, you’d tried to bribe him with the prospect of hot moms, but with a smile and an undertone you couldn’t quite place, he’d said he wasn’t interested in them. “How bad is it?” 

You turn to face him and pull the bottom of your shirt up just slightly. You slip your thumb into the waistband of both your sleep pants he’d lent and your panties and tug them down over your right hip to show him the scar. The pants are baggy and they slide down a little more than what is probably appropriate, but you don’t particularly care. 

He steps closer, his frame towering over you as his eyes dip down to the puffy scar. It’s nearly the length of your finger, slicing through the junction at your thigh and teasing up your waist, all just to the inside of your hip bone. It’s ugly and always angry looking, forever bumpy and red. You watch as his hand reaches out to you, fingers hovering in the air in front of you, hesitant.

“It’s okay,” you assure him softly, nearly a whisper. You lift your head to look at him, his gaze intent on your hip. His large fingers start to trace up and down over the length of the scar, barely touching you. “It doesn’t hurt.” He uses the pad of his fingers, feeling it more fully. It’s a foreign feeling having someone else touch your scar, but it’s not unwelcome. In fact, the warmth of his touch is making you want to lean into him.

“No pain?” His voice is quiet, but gruff, fingers still roaming back and forth. 

“Not anymore.” You keep your eyes on him, watching the way his eyes barely shift away from the scar to where your pants had slouched down, showing him more of your skin than even your skimpiest swimsuit would have. “The scar itself is numb. Most likely will be for the rest of my life.” With a blink, his eyes are back to his fingers.

“So, you can’t feel this? Feel me?” You swear there’s something that sounds like disappointment in his voice. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to him, from touching his hand or his waist or his chest.

“I can feel you.” It sounds more breathless than you intended, more intimate somehow. He breathes deeply and you’re not sure if you leaned in or if he did, but he’s closer again. “The surface of the scar is numb, but you’re so big… Your _fingers_ are so big,” you quickly correct yourself, but not before his lips twitch up in the smallest smirk at your words and a blush tints your cheeks. “They touch the edges and the skin around it.” He presses a little more firmly. “So yes, I can feel you.” 

His hand shifts, thumb staying on the scar while the rest of his fingers slip along your hip until his palm is cradling you. Your breath hitches and when his thumb inches just past the scar, your body tingles. When his eyes meet yours, they aren’t filled with a hazy lust as you secretly hoped they would be. Instead, they’re soft and glazed with regret. Immediately, you shake your head and bring your hand up to press it against his cheek.

“No,” you tell him. “Don’t say it again.” He opens his mouth to say the words he’s been whispering to you for the past few months when it gets dark and quiet and raw feelings creep out. _I’m sorry_. He doesn’t say it this time, instead chooses to close his mouth and hold your hip a little tighter. “You saved my life. Walking away from a Demodog attack with a just a scar is not something to complain about.” He sighs and leans his face into your touch. You’d given the speech before and you had no doubt you’d do it again. “So, I won’t win sexiest woman in town or anything. Oh well,” you joke. It has the desired effect. He chuckles and straightens out a little, making you realize just how much he had been leaning down to you. Your hand slides away from his face and his slips away from your hip.

“I think you still have a damn good shot.” He runs his hand over his mouth and jaw with a chuckle and puts a little distance between the two of you. You look down to the floor to try to hide the blush and laugh with him. Both of you turn away so you can lean back on the counter. 

“Want to try for sexiest man?” you joke back at him. He barks out a fuller laugh and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Nah. I’m not the type. No one wants a big, old guy like me.” He says it with a smile on his face which makes you shrug all too casually as you respond.

“I do.” Thunder rolls outside again as your breath stops and you feel like you could just fall through the floor. The air is suddenly very still and you can feel him looking at you as you try like hell not to look back.

“That so?” he drawls slowly. You can hear the smirk he’s wearing and you crunch your face as your brain fumbles for recovery.

“I just mean,” you start as you try not to fidget anymore than pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t mean _you_. I’m just not into the young type.” That sounds better, right? His scoff implies he doesn’t agree.

“You realize guys your age _are_ the young type, right?” Your brief glance at him reveals an amused scrunched up look on his face and a bounce in his shoulders. You shoot him a pointed stare and tilt your head just slightly.

“Clearly you haven’t seen the way those women gawk at newly graduated boys. I am _not_ that young,” you tell him. “Even so, I’m just not into guys my age.” He raises his brow in question, waiting to hear you say it. “I like my men older.” His eyes dip down your body, coming back up with that darker look you had been wanting earlier. 

“Is that right?” You caught the way his hands tightened underneath his crossed arms and you’re betting he’s wishing he had a cold beer to take a long drink from right about now. You don’t answer verbally, but bite down on your lower lip and nod slowly. “Got your eye on anyone?”

“I might.” It’s a safe answer you can shrug with, one you can brush off in the morning if, like so many others, this conversation doesn’t actually lead anywhere. “What about you?” You spin the attention to him before he can ask anything else. “Anyone catch your interest in town lately?” He drops both his arms and his head as another chuckle rolls out of him.

“Am I a complete creep if I’ve got a thing for a younger woman?” You find it hard to swallow. 

“I suppose that depends on what kind of thing it is,” you answer, words suddenly breathless again. He doesn’t look up at you yet, hands toying with the tie around his robe.

“Depends on the day,” he says. “Sometimes I just want to see her, talk to her. I enjoy her company. Somedays I want to take her to a nice restaurant or out dancing or whatever the hell it is the young people do on dates now.” A soft smile comes to your lips as you imagine Jim Hopper dancing. “But then other days,” he finally lifts his head and turns his body to face you. “On the days where she’s being irritatingly stubborn or running her smartass mouth,” His voice dips down a bit lower as he steps closer to you. You look over your shoulder at him, head tilting back to watch his eyes train on your lips. His hand comes up and brushes a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Those are the days I just want to bend you over my desk.” 

The air in your lungs dissipates. Your chest tightens and you feel like you can’t breathe, all while heat is flooding through your veins. You want to throw yourself at him. You’d imagined a confession so many times and you always threw yourself at him in your mind. Instead you’re frozen, unable to move or even look away from his teasing eyes.

“Me?” It comes out as an embarrassing squeak. He squints his eyes a little and feigns innocence.

“Did I say you?” There’s a moment of internal panic in which you frantically wonder if you misheard him. But then there’s a twinkle in his eye as he softly cradles the side of your neck. “I didn’t mean _you_. I just meant… ya know,” he mocks your earlier babbling with a teasing smile that eases your tension.

You start to laugh and give his chest a gentle, playful smack. He laughs with you and brings the hand on your neck down to rest on your shoulder. You turn on the balls of your feet to face him and lift onto your toes in half-assed attempt to even yourself with him.

“You shouldn’t tease a lady,” you tell him lowly.

“Is the implication here supposed to be that you’re a lady?” A roll of thunder punctuates his joke, startling you. Your back tenses and straightens as you press yourself into him, forehead leaning on his chest. “Hey, I got you.” His arm slides around your shoulders, the other snaking around your waist, holding you close. 

There’s a comforting silence between you for a few moments as your heart rate comes back down. Hopper is patient, content to hold onto you until you’re ready. You can still hear the rain pounding down on the cabin and you take a deep, steady breath.

“I’m a lady,” you mumble, turning to press your cheek into his skin instead, afraid of brushing your lips against his bare chest when you speak.

“What was that?” he asks with a chuckle, looking down to you.

“I am a lady,” you say a little more firmly. “Unless you’re trying to lay claim to being the lady in this relationship?” You tilt your head back, looking up at his eyes and give a another little tug on the edge of his robe. “You do have some delicate features.” A smile breaks out onto his lips.

“There’s that smartass mouth I mentioned.” He shifts his weight as you shrug at him.

“Too bad we’re not anywhere near your desk.” You blush even as you say it, your boldness surprising you tonight. He hums lowly, a rumble you can feel through his chest and you watch his eyes darken through the dim light of the room.

“Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t tease.” His hold on you loosens, as if he’s about to pull away and you feel it in your core; it’s now or never. 

“I wasn’t teasing.” 

He stops pulling away and there’s an actual surprise in his eyes at the way your tone of voice drops and the seriousness in it. He watches you carefully, weighing your words and your tone, trying to decide if you’re serious about what you were implying.

“Careful, babygirl.” His voice is gruff and deep as he shifts, both hands now gripping your hips with a new purpose. He’d only ever used that nickname on you once, but you know the bastard isn’t oblivious to the effect it has on you.

“I told you,” you breathe out, wrapping your fingers around both edges of his robe this time and lifting up as high as you can on your toes. “I like older men.” You feel a part of him twitch against the lowest part of your belly and you see his eyes darken as the smallest, dirty-tinted smirk reaches his lips.

“In that case…” He lifts you suddenly, palms smoothing down to cradle your ass and guide you up to his frame, your legs winding around his hips, pulling his robe further apart as your hands trace up to wrap around his neck. “Last chance,” he warns. If you wanted, he would put you back down and you’d laugh it off later. Or you could finally take the plunge that the look in his eyes is desperately asking you to take.

You give the slightest pull on him and his mouth meets yours in a sharp hiss of breath, his mustache and stubble scratching against your skin. Your stomach flips like you’ve just plummeted off a cliff and your skin heats at his touch, his fingers digging into the flesh of your rear as he holds you up.

You moan into his mouth when he turns on his heels, spinning to place you on the nearby counter. Lightning still flashes outside of your closed eyes, but it doesn’t bother you anymore. His hands roam up your sides all the way to your neck and face, roughly padded fingertips gentle on your skin. He slows the kiss, thumb stroking your jaw and making you whine when he pulls back just slightly.

“Been waiting a long time to do that,” he whispers gruffly, only a hair’s breadth away. You dig your heels into the backs of his thighs, trying to keep him close. 

“What took you so long then?” You run one hand along the back of his neck, the other slowly teasing his robe further open, pushing it off one of his shoulders as the loose tie finally gives way and undoes itself.

“Wasn’t sure you were interested, sweetheart.” You have to chuckle. It’s not like you had been very subtle, or at least you thought you hadn’t. You lean forward and pull him into another heated kiss. Using your heels on his thighs, you scoot yourself to the edge of the counter top and grind your hips against his. The groan that slips out of him is filthy and delicious.

“Any doubts now?” you tease. He smirks as his hands dip down again, one coming to your thigh and one to the hem of your shirt.

“I’m clearly not good at taking hints, darling,” he whispers, taking his mouth from yours and leaning in to put his lips by your ear. “Think I’m gonna need to hear you tell me what you want.”

You groan his name, body practically melting underneath his touch and his husky voice. You snake your arms underneath his and reach up behind him to curl your fingers over the collar of his robe, tugging it down. He pulls his hands off of you just long enough to let it fall away. 

“I want you,” you whisper back to him as his nose tickles your neck, a teasing touch that leaves you craving for more.

“A little vague there, baby.” His lips press a feather-light kiss to your neck. 

“You’re such as ass,” you laugh lightly, grinding against him again and dragging your nails lightly down his back which causes his lips to press down a little harder, giving you some satisfaction. “Maybe _you_ need to tell me what you want.” He chuckles darkly against your neck before bringing his lips back to his ear.

“I want to be buried so deep inside of you that the only thing you can say is my name.” You’d imagined that scenario before but hearing him saying it makes it so much more tangible. You’re left with an emptiness in you aching to be filled with him. You give a little tug on his hair to pull his face back so you can see him.

His lips are are red and puffy from your fevered kisses, mustache hairs just slightly astray. His cheeks are tinted in pink and his eyes are dark, hazy. You lick your lips before smirking back at him.

“Then what are you waiting for?” He smiles before scooping you up in his arms again, capturing your lips in an open-mouthed kiss, and carrying you off towards his bedroom.


End file.
